“Wait!” My chair rolled toward the shelves behind me as I stood and jogged after her. “I don’t suppose it’d do me any good to order you to stay here.”
She turned to walk backward, one eyebrow arched at me. “Are you still planning to send me to Atlanta?”
An ache spread through my chest. “You know I have to.”
“Then you’re not my Alpha.” She shrugged and headed down the hall. “Order away. But tie your boot while you talk.”
I looked down to find that my right boot was indeed untied. By the time I caught up to her, shoelaces trailing behind me, she had one hand on the kitchen door. “Wait a minute, Robyn!” I dropped into a squat to tie my boot, and she let go of the doorknob. “Did you follow orders this well in Atlanta?”
“Nowhere near this well,” she said with a grin.
“Then I’m almost surprised they want you back.”
She shrugged as I stood. “Me too. Let’s go.”
I followed her out the door onto the patio, where she stopped to look over the pool and hot tub—both covered for the winter—and the tree-lined path leading to the tennis court. “So, what’s the plan?” I asked.
“Well, cats don’t track by scent, like a dog would. Man, was I disappointed to realize that.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“But a while back, I had some pretty good luck tracking people using my other senses—eyes, ears, and common.”
I couldn’t resist a smile, despite the circumstances. “Okay, then, work your magic. Where do we start?”
“At the last known location.” Robyn headed around the pool at a jog, and I followed her through the front door of the guesthouse and down the stairs. In the basement, she stopped and looked around again, and I was starting to wonder if she was part bloodhound.
Or a police detective.
She marched into the empty cell and picked up a sweat-stained shirt from the pile of clothing discarded on the concrete floor. “Okay, his clothes are here, so he’s probably in cat form.”
“Or naked,” I offered.
“That’s possible, I guess, but not likely.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because in the very darkest part of my post-infection period, I wanted to kill the people responsible—the need was so strong I could hardly think about anything else—but I never went outside naked, unless I was on four paws. I might have been on the edge of sanity, but I wasn’t crazy. And neither is Corey Morris. In fact, he seemed pretty coherent a couple of hours ago.”
“Okay.” I tried not to sound too impressed by her empathy and understanding. “So he’s probably covered in fur. Where would he go?”
“That depends on why he left. He could have been hungry, especially so soon after shifting. Maybe he went out to hunt.”
“But there’s more meat in the fridge. I told him to help himself.”
“Yes.” She stood and glanced across the basement at the kitchenette. “But if he can’t control his shifts yet and got stuck in cat form, he may not have been able to open the refrigerator.”
“Well, if he went into the woods, we’ll find him eventually.”
“Or he’ll wander out of the forest on the other side and be spotted by motorists. Or hunters.” She frowned as she rounded the table, her gaze narrowed on something behind one of the chairs. “Was Corey wearing a coat when he got here?” She squatted, then stood with a dark green quilted jacket.
The shredded remains of one, anyway.
“No, that’s mine.” Damn it. And it was my favorite.
Robyn held the scraps of material to her face. “It’s covered in both your scent and his. Why would Corey tear up your jacket?”
“I have no idea.” But that did not bode well for my attempts to bond with the new stray.
